'My next 30 years'

Any country music fans out there? A recent interaction at the airport had me singing old Tim McGraw songs when one of my checkride applicants asked how long I’d been flying. “Let’s see, I started taking lessons the year I finished my undergrad—2004. So that would make this…oh geez, 20 years.” For an introspective writer-type like me, these sorts of milestones tend to raise some questions. No doubt, there are folks reading this who have been flying for 50, 60 years. And I hope I’m lucky enough to be standing in your shoes one day. For now, I’d like to do a little evaluation of these first 20 years so that the next 30 can be even better. Laughable I know, to think that we can be honest about our own successes and failures. But like Tim, I’m going to give it a try.

“I’m gonna have some fun, try to forget about all the crazy things I’ve done.”
Pilots don’t have the same luxury as a country music superstar. We better learn from our mistakes and the mistakes of our friends too. Like that time my friend, Grant, and I took off in 30-knot winds for our annual birthday lunch trip. We had about 15,000 hours between us, and it was only a 30-minute flight down to Oxford, Mississippi, but that bumpy, hang-onto-your-seat experience was enough to make me scale back my personal minimums. Twenty-five knots is my maximum now in small, single-engine aircraft. Could I do 30 again if I ran into unforecast weather? Absolutely. Do I want to? Heck no. Or how about the time I took off on a VFR cross-country and failed to do a thorough weather check of my route? A thick overcast at my destination had me picking up an instrument clearance, which would have been fine except for the ice that glued itself to the windscreen on the way down. I had to descend out of the clouds, then fly around on ATC vectors until the defrost melted enough that I could see the runway safely for landing. You better believe every instrument checkride applicant I test explains in detail how to avoid icing and what to do if they encounter it.

“Maybe now I’ve conquered all my adolescent fears, and I’ll do it better in my next 30 years.”
One of the things I’ve always loved about aviation is the way it pushes you with constant opportunities to combat fear by getting out of your comfort zone. But lately, as my career has settled into a steady pattern of checkrides and helping manage the flight school, things are starting to feel stagnant. GA can do that to you. You buy an airplane, fly it to the same places over and over again, and suddenly you aren’t broadening your horizons—you’re stuck in a rut. That’s something I’d like to change. I want to learn again, keep growing. Maybe we could all commit to flying one new airplane a year. I think I’ll finally take my buddy up on his offer to jump in that Van’s RV–12.

“Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear…in my next 30 years.”
While it was probably the thrill of flying that made you fall in love with aviation, it’s the pilots who keep me coming back to the airport every day. Those people have become more like family than friends. As a whole, pilots are a fun-loving, generous sort. I got my high-performance endorsement in a Cessna 182 when a semi-retired airline pilot walked into the flight school and offered to train anyone who was interested, free of charge. He had no skin in the game, just wanted to pay it forward. I got my tailwheel endorsement from a local examiner who only let me pay for gas in his beautiful Decathlon. He’s made the same offer to countless others. I’ve been invited to hangar parties, fly-in pancake breakfasts, and camp-out nights under the wing. And when I sit in my office at the airport and leave the door open, laughter constantly drifts in from the flight instructors and students. The airport is a place full of people who just love life. Aren’t we lucky to be a part of such a group?

Maybe you’re just starting your aviation journey, or you might be looking back on decades of flying. What are you proud of? What would you change? Don’t wait. Like Tim McGraw, sometimes we all need to “make up for lost time here,” so we all can say, “I’ll do it better in my next 30 years.”

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